


Better

by IndridGrey



Series: Harder Better Faster Stronger [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cisswap, F/M, Female Alpha, Female Dean Winchester, Getting Together, Size Difference, creeping on someone while they sleep, female alpha/omega male
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndridGrey/pseuds/IndridGrey
Summary: On his 15th birthday, Sam abandoned all attempts at subtlety.  Dee could have handled it better.





	Better

When Dee thought back, the first hints had started when Sam was almost 14.  She had assumed that suddenly dressing kind of slutty was just a normal thing that omegas did when they started having heats.  It never really registered to her that the revealing clothing only came out when Sam and she were at home alone.  And she didn’t exactly spy on him, so she had no way to know that his sudden oral fixation only showed its face around her.

Not to say that she didn’t notice these changes.  How the fuck could she not notice when her little brother started transforming into a walking wet dream?  She just didn’t realize it was a transformation focused on her.

The first hint she got on that angle was when she ran into one of Sam’s friends from school and the beta referred to Sam as Dee’s omega, rather than brother.  When she asked him about it, though, he just shrugged, and she had assumed it was because he thought the other kids would be more impressed if he had a cool alpha compared to a cool sister.  Sam got less and less subtle, though, and Dee had to do more and more to explain it all away.

There was no explaining away his 15th birthday, though.

She had switched shifts with a coworker to get the evening off and bought a pie, fresh lettuce, and ingredients for marshmallow macaroni on her way to the run-down cabin they were staying in.  Everything was ready and she had been settling down for some TV and beer while she waited for Sammy to get home from his study group when Dad called to let her know that he, yet again, would not be back in time for something important to Sam.  She’d drained the beer in one go after the call ended, all the better to steel herself for Sam’s inevitable angry pouting.

Imagine her surprise when his deduction of “he’s not coming, is he?” without her having said anything was followed immediately by him glancing over her with wide eyes and biting his lip like he was nervous.  He’d nodded, dropped his backpack against the sofa, and disappeared into his room.  Enough time passed that she had wondered if she needed to coax him out for dinner when his door opened again.  She turned to confirm dinner and her ability to speak had vacated the premises.

She’d seen him in the oversized shirt plenty—had literally dreamt about the stark white contrast with his tan skin and how it hung off his shoulder, perfect for showing off a claim bite if he’d had one.  The daisy dukes just barely peeking out under the shirt had only made a couple recent appearances, after a pair of his jeans got torn up enough that he could get away with butchering them.  She’d never seen them in combination.  And she had _never_ seen the white knee-highs, holy shit.

He had hesitated in the doorway for just a beat before striding over—he was still a shrimp, how did his legs look so long?—and standing so close that he brushed against her own fully-dressed leg when he took the beer bottle from her hand and set it down by her feet propped up on the coffee table.  She’d watched, still mute, as he tilted one knee against the couch and then in one fluid movement suddenly he was solidly in her lap.

Like, _straddling_ her, practically on her dick (which started showing interest while her brain lagged, the goddamn traitor).  She had sucked in a breath to ask him what the fuck he was doing but then he tilted his head and looked at her from under his eyelashes as he presented his throat and her breath whooshed back out of her.  After a few long seconds of her staying stock still besides her unsteady breathing, he shifted forward and Jeeeeesus she could feel him hard in his shorts and he was going to try to kiss her ohfuck.

Her body and brain had finally synced back up in time for her to raise an arm and hold him away.  His look of determination cracked open into confused puppy eyes and for a split second she almost caved.  But she shook her head, put her feet on the floor, and pushed him gently until he was standing.

She avoided looking at the hurt on his face and finally found her voice.  “Sammy, we—no.”

His face had twisted in the betrayed anger she’d been expecting when he learned about Dad, a look that had never been directed at her before.  Her chest had felt open and raw.  Her voice had cracked on her apology and his jaw had set and tears had welled and he had stomped back to his room without a word.

After an hour of holding back tears in silence, she’d knocked and laid a plate with a slice of pie and a note echoing her apology outside his door.

When she got up for work the next day, Sam had already left for school and the pie had been left untouched while the note had been turned into a tiny pile of ash.  She had a panic attack in the kitchen.

A week passed of Sam refusing to talk to her, sulky and angry and unrepentant and carrying on with his attempts at seduction like before but with a strong overtone of passive aggressiveness.  Dee took on extra shifts to avoid all the exposed tan skin, showing off of plump lips, and the knowledge that Sam was willing to make most of her sex dreams a reality.  Extra shifts also meant that she didn’t have enough time off to recover from a hangover, meaning she couldn’t drink herself into oblivion.  After a week, though, her boss caught on and forced her to take the evening and next day off.  It was shitty of her, but she headed straight to the bar without letting Sam know she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

And that was how Dee ended up sad-tipsy in Sam’s room at 4am, just staring down at him all sprawled out in the shirt she’d worn yesterday without permission like the little shit he was.  She brushed his fluffy bangs to the side and noticed in the weak light from the hallway that there were tear tracks dried on his cheeks and temples.  Suddenly it was a little harder to breathe.

She’d been thinking in circles too hard to get properly drunk at the bar like she’d wanted, but it had been productive.  She’d finally come to the conclusion that if her self-loathing hang-ups were taken out of the equation, then there was nothing stopping them from planning for a ceremony a year from now when Sam was able to legally, officially mate.

Mom had been younger than Sam when she and Dad got together, incest wasn’t a big deal if it was only one generation, and as much as Dee tried to ignore it, her alpha chomped at the bit for her to claim him every time Sam got anywhere near a heat.  And she was guessing that her assumption about Sam begging for her knot while heat-delirious being normal for siblings of complementary designations was, in fact, inaccurate.  She didn’t think for a second that he would hit on her outside of heats if he had a shred of doubt that his attraction was temporary or misdirected.  He was a stubborn brat, but he had always known exactly what he wanted, even when they were little.  And damn her to hell, but she wanted him more than _anything_.  She wanted him when he was a pissy little bitch. She wanted him when he was the biggest dweeb on the planet.  She wanted him when he was brave and sad and pushy and excited and wise beyond his years.

She traced one of the rough tear tracks with a fingertip.  Dee had done that, but she could fix it.  She ran a knuckle lightly down the line of his nose and tapped the pointy tip like she used to do when he was still tiny and it was one of the few things that would get him to stop crying when he was fussy.    She was a good sister.  She would find a way to be as good a mate as he deserved.  No longer looming and touching him while he was sleeping would probably be a good start.  She wanted him like this, too, though, pervert that she was.  He looked so angelic without the ever-present wariness.

His lips were as soft as they looked, and they parted too pliant under the barest pressure of her thumb.  She sucked in a quick breath when her thumb dipped into hot-damp space and Sam stirred a little.  He kicked a little under the sheet and Dee glanced down and did a double take because holy fuck Sam was in _nothing but_ her shirt.  And he was half-hard.

Dee now wished she had drunk enough to get whiskey dick, because her alpha was roaring to mate him, he was hers and he _knew_ it, had scent marked himself _for her_.  She was frozen.  Doing anything while he was asleep would be unacceptable, but that didn’t stop her mouth from watering as she stared at the cotton candy pink head of his dick.  She would be able to swallow all of him down, even if he was a grower.  Fuck, if she’d gotten with the program from the start, she could have proven it last week on the couch.  Her alpha let out an impatient burst of pheromones when it really registered that she might be able to prove it soon, and more besides.

Oh, god, the first time she knots him—would he be snarling and begging like during his heats?  Or could she get him to be like this, all soft and open and vulnerable?  An image flashed across her mind of his face slack and dazed, mouth shaped around a moan and eyelashes fluttering, as she pushed all the way into him to lock them together.  Shit.  She ground the heel of her free hand punishingly against her throbbing cock because this really was not the time and place.  She needed to—

Sam let out a quiet, confused noise and she yanked her thumb from his mouth just as his eyes opened blearily.

“…Dee?”

Her voice shook when she near-begged him to go back to sleep.  This was the first time he’d spoken to her in a week and she was painfully turned on and unprepared for this conversation.

“Where were you?”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over her at the hurt in his drowsy voice.  “We can talk about it tomorrow, Sammy.  Just go back to sleep.  Everything’s okay.”

He sucked in breath like he was going to protest, then tensed up.  His eyes widened and she followed his gaze to his naked cock standing at full mast.  Oh, her pheromones.  He pulled the hem of her shirt down from where it had ridden up to his hips but his fingers loosened a moment later and Dee was too distracted noting that he was indeed a grower to register that he was staring at her own erection flush against her jeans.  But then he touched it.

“Fuck!”  She jumped back and shielded herself.  Good thing, too, because he was wide awake and looking determined now.  “Sam, I’m serious.  Just go back to sleep.”

His face pinched in a way all-too-familiar.  “So you can just go back to ignoring this?”  He hadn’t been awake long enough for his guard to be fully up, and Dee could hear the sadness and fear clear as day.

Dee didn’t let herself overthink when she stepped forward again, bent down, and kissed him hard and fast.  His face was slack with surprise more than anything when she stood back up and she almost laughed.

“I said we can talk tomorrow.  What part of that sounded like me ignoring this?”

“Are you—what—”  Sam glanced down towards her crotch again and D shook her head.

“Nothing but sleep tonight, Sam.  I mean it.  Tomorrow.”

Dee tracked his slow lick across the perfect curve of his bottom lip.  Then he asked, “Am I at least allowed to jack off?”

She almost choked on air, which suddenly seemed to be in low supply.  Sam, the little fucker, was smirking.  “What kind of question—As if you would even listen to me if I said ‘no’.”

The amusement dropped and Sam didn’t look anything but earnest when he replied, “I would.”

Well, that— _fuck_.  Her alpha was getting loud again and she barely maintained enough control to not close the couple inches of space between her hand and cock.

“You.  _I’m_ going bed.  You do whatever you want.  In here.  I have the day off so we can…talk.  Whatever.”

Sam’s eyes were lively, so she was doing something right.

“Can I have a goodnight kiss?  I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She felt like a Disney prince when she bent down to lay a gentle kiss on Sammy.  He pushed up into it and nipped at Dee as she pulled away, but kept his word.  His voice was soft and content as he wished her good night, and she echoed it right back.

She closed his bedroom door with one last glance in to see him bringing the collar of her shirt up to his nose with one hand and wrapping the other around his dick.

This was real.

What was the cliché?  Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the somnophilia square on my spn abo bingo card!  
> There will be 3 other short time stamps for this 'verse, two of which will have actual smut~
> 
> Concrit is welcomed and kudo/comments make my day!


End file.
